


we're here right now and that's where we're supposed to be

by TheKitteh



Series: WinterIron Bingo Adventure [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Afghanistan mentions, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky has no shame to speak of, First Kiss, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Healing, Introspection, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Night Talks, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, POV Tony Stark, Post Civil War, Scars, Siberia mentions, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, always time for a coffee in the Avengers household
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 01:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16253753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKitteh/pseuds/TheKitteh
Summary: Written for the WinterIron Bingo 2018, square 1x 1 "Scars"---It's the middle of the night and Tony's not even surprised to find Barnes in the kitchen. They share a coffee, share a few words.It's became an odd normal, him and Barnes, and Tony's more than fine with it.





	we're here right now and that's where we're supposed to be

It’s a testament to what Tony Stark’s life really is that the sight of one James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes - - in the middle of a kitchen doing a crossword at ass o’ dawn is hardly enough to make Tony raise one brow. Even when barefoot, wearing a pair of red and blue checkered sleep pants and nothing more.

Frankly, it’s become quite a familiar occurrence somehow, stumbling onto Barnes somewhere round the Tower in the middle of the night. They’ve gone from awkward to close in a surprisingly short amount of time, taking their past experience into account and considering that their interactions are either nocturnal or due to arm issues when Barnes needs to get Tony’s assistance.

Of course, it wasn’t easy at first.  They not so casually ignored each other at the best of times, with a few instances of immediately leaving the room upon seeing each other. Well, to be honest, Tony preferred not to get involved with anyone from Steve Rogers’ Band of Merry Misfits for a longer time, not just Barnes, but oddly enough he was the one Tony stumbled upon most often. Go figure.

It was easier during the nights to be around each other,  and soon the first tentative “ _uh sorry”_ and “ _hey”_ began to pop up, and then those became “a _re you fine”_ and “ _what are you doing up”_. Somehow stilted silences became fumbling conversations, then turned into sharing stories and genuine talks. By the time Tony threw the first Bucking bronco joke, they’d become familiar with each other to the point where Barnes knew how Tony took his coffee.

It made more sense, in a way. Barnes seemed more relaxed the closer to dawn it got, had way more snark than considered healthy, loved and understood science much more than anyone gave him credit for, and to Tony’s utter desperation and delight, he had a complete lack of shame, strutting the halls and rooms half naked.

And yes, Tony _know_ s  that after everything Barnes has been through, being self-conscious is probably the last thing on his mind, but there are moments where Tony is pretty sure he’s one breath away from some sort of aneurysm.

Because Tony Stark is a lot of things but not blind and the aforementioned James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes is stupidly beautiful on top of it all. And not just in that unfairly built, inhuman shoulder to waist ratio that had been sketched up by Michelangelo himself way. No. Nope. That would be too easy, after all, Tony has practice with the obvious sort of beauty. Barnes is beautiful in that _broken-a-hundred-times-came-out-wrong-but-still-held-together_ kind of way that apparently ticks off a lot of Tony’s boxes. Top if off with that arm of his and Tony has resigned himself to his fate of stomach clenching and heart skipping too many a beat for it to be healthy.

He’s pretty sure Friday has sent Rhodey numerous copies of all the records of  him walking into walls and stumbling over nothing at all courtesy of the resident former serial killer.

So yes, massive crush on the man. Not that he’s ever planning to do anything about it, nope. Hitting on a hundred-year-old former Hydra-brainwashed assassin, Captain America’s best friend (and 90% of his impulse control), who was used to kill Tony’s parents and also played a crucial role in the cluster-fuck in Siberia screams so much _wrong_ that even Tony realizes that it’s literally inviting a Greek tragedy over for dinner.

Still, there are moments between them, in dimly lit living room or kitchen and in the workshop alike, where they just _are._ When the whole world suddenly just shrinks away, over a one of a kind smile or a too loaded glance, and there’s just them. There’s only the sound of heartbeats, the pulse of blood in their veins as they hang in there and then. Then one of them would blink and the universe would be back in motion, Earth picking up its spin as if nothing ever happened.

Right now, Barnes is at the table, long legs propped up on the chair nearby, looking all sorts of good and well and Tony smiles at the sight. Still, as pretty a picture as he makes, what really gets Tony’s full attention is the whole pot of coffee right next to a plate of oatmeal cookies Barnes likes to indulge himself with. Tony can literally feel the tip of his nose twitching as he inhales deeply, the scent of coffee strong and rich, a clear sign that it’s been freshly brewed. He makes a beeline for the cupboards, already imagining the taste and the warmth. He snags a mug, plops down on chair as soon as Barnes takes his legs off and pours himself a hefty amount.

“Aww yisssss.” He hisses out through his teeth as his hands curl around the mug. The first gulp rips a blissed out sigh out of him, as warmth spreads from his stomach and into his bones and he slumps in the chair. “‘Sup, Buttercup?”

“I’m Buttercup now?” Barnes huffs out without looking up, still engrossed in filling out his word puzzle. He’s dedicated, Tony’ll give him that, his pen not once stopping its slide across the paper. Fuck it all, even his penmanship is pretty, Tony thinks as he watches the smooth glide. Of course it is, Tony Stark doesn’t do anything by halves after all, of course he’d fall for the top notch guy who can kill as nicely as write out Christmas cards. Oh there’s an idea. They should probably make him write out their cards this year. From Russia with love and all that.

“So, hit hour thirty-six?”  The question makes him blink, then the tone registers.

Oh that’s rude, Tony can hear the slight about not sleeping. As if Barnes in all of his half-naked, coffee drinking wholeness has any room to talk.

“Try hour forty-seven, Sarge.” Friday says as soon as Tony opens his mouth and that’s what makes Barnes raise his head. He levels Tony with a stare to rival Steve’s, somehow manages to look pissed, worried, and honest-to-God offended.

It’s a talent not many possess. In fact, Tony knows only one other person that can pull that off and he huffs in protest.

“Yeah, no, you’re not giving me any shit ‘bout being awake, mister New York Times crosswords.” He waves one hand in some gesture he knows means something or other, then turns to the nearest camera and points a finger. “As for you, Fri, I’ll remember this and strike when you least suspect it.”

“I’m sure you will, Boss.” She agrees casually, her voice perfectly flat and he’s again reminded how much he loves her. She’s perfect, that mouthy girl of his. “And until then, I’ll be here, right on the edge of my seat. With my breath held.”

Barnes doesn’t hide his smirk quick enough, the one that is still so rare and for that alone Tony lets Friday off the hook. The man smiles way too little as it is, and Tony’s long come to terms with the fact that James Barnes smiling is a sight to behold.

He takes another sip of his coffee, lets his eyes roam over the breadth of Barnes’ shoulders as he fills out another column. He appreciates the nice lines, before his brows furrow. There’s an angle to his left shoulder that’s off enough for Tony’s worry to spark up.

“What’s wrong with the arm?”  

“Nothing.”

“Right.” He scoffs, kicks Barnes’ ankle only to get it trapped between two bare feet. “Come on Red October, don’t insult me. Anything’s wonky, you let me know, we made that deal and fucking shook on it. I will not tolerate malfunctioning tech in my house and home, and if Shuri even hears that I let you…”

“Nothing’s wrong with the arm.” Barnes’ voice is clipped in a way it hasn’t been in a long long time.

Suddenly they’re back to those first awful weeks and Tony jerks his foot back, going cold all over in a span of a second. The coffee he drank feels laden in the pit of his stomach, his thoughts scatter and …

“Jesus, Stark, breathe.” Barnes’ right hand’s suddenly there on his knee, pan huge and fire hot through the worn out fabric of his jeans. “Nothing’s wrong with the fuckin’ arm. Stuff’s just sensitive and woke me up.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Tony’s eyes zero in on the mess of scars over his left shoulder where the metal arm begins, and he clamps down on the urge to rub at his own chest. Phantom pain flares through him, skin feels pulled too tight and too thin as he struggles again to catch his breath. Barnes rubs his thumb over the knee-cap, a warm half line, and Tony looks up at him.

“Why didn’t you go to the medical? Or hell, you just need to ask Fri, she’d tell you where all of our meds are stocked. Or… just or.”

He shuffles out of his chair, puts the cup on the table and rakes a hand through his hair. His thoughts are still scattered, leaves in the wind have nothing on him, because Hell, Barnes may say _sensitive_ but the guy’s got a pain threshold worthy of a bull and a guilt complex big enough to give Tony a run for his money, worst combination ever, so who really knows what exactly it is that he’s feeling….

“It’s not a big deal.” But he shrugs his flesh shoulder, brows furrowed as he watches Tony pace around the kitchen like the sleep deprived maniac he is. “‘S I said, sensitive. Not worth worrying bout it.”

There’s enough of somber note in his voice though, one that rings a bit too close to Tony’s heart not to decipher and the realization of it, that he knows how to hear what Barnes is actually saying makes him stop in his tracks.

“You know it’s ok to be a little bit selfish sometimes.” Tony says quietly, lingering at the counter now and not really sure where to look. He also sounds very much like Wilson and that’s not something he’s wanted to experience, like, ever.

“I got to live, Stark.” Barnes says in his flattest voice and oh wow, way to turn somber fast. “Can’t get more selfish than that.”

 _I get to live while others didn’t_.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere between them and Tony knows Barnes is not aiming for sympathy here; for one, he’s not the type to play the pity card. Two, Tony’s way too familiar with this odd sort of resigned acceptance to pretend he doesn’t recognize it when it’s there up in his face.

Also, he’s always been selfish - he’s been called out on it for the whole of his life. Doesn't matter, if it’s about getting the prettiest face in the room for the night or wanting to spend the rest of his life not screaming inside. He still _is_ , still wants things for his own and his only with a burning need, so really, he can say with one thousand percent certainty that Barnes is anything but selfish.

“Eh. Jury’s still out on that one. And you know that I know this shit.” He finally grabs a jar of ointment from one of the cupboards, scoops a generous amount onto his fingers. It’s slippery, but not too runny as he rubs it between them. “May I?”

Barnes’ eyes widen slightly in confusion, his head tilts ever so to one side. He looks more of a ruffled, grumpy pup now than a world class assassin and suddenly Tony has to fight off the urge to smile. Contrary to the popular belief, he _has_ some sense of self-preservation. A bit. A very tiny bit, alright, but still. Not smiling at confused ex-Fists of Hydra’s.

He cracks though after a minute or so, feels his smile split his face in full, because Barnes just keeps blinking at him and Tony would love nothing more than to blame the late/early hour, but Barnes looks all sorts of adorable.

“Soo? Medical goop, your shoulder?” He says, raising his hand and giving it a small, barely there wave. There’s a small, close to none chance that Barnes’ will agree, but Tony’s an optimist.  “Match made in heaven, if you ask me. Which you didn’t, I know, but the offer’s out there already.”

“Oh.” Realization settles in and Barnes surprises him once again right then. Because there’s no sign of discomfort or unease, there’s even a hint of a smile, but that’s worse is when Barnes looks down to the scarred mess where the metal meets flesh, he looks … almost shy. “You don’t have… I can do it myself.”

Tony snorts, because really, he’s never been that good with not breaking his own heart. Bashful Barnes will haunt his dreams, all of that hair falling into soft, sky grey eyes and that small smile. Well, there are worse ways to die. “I know I don’t and I know you can. Still, your choice, Zhivago… swipe it on or swipe it off?”

The next look is quick, bright from underneath the loose strands of hair and Barnes must see something he needs to see in Tony’s face, since a nod and a small sigh is all he gets in reply.

It’s hella unnerving how much it sounds like Rhodes’ “ _I am not going to fight you on this because I do not get paid enough for this shit Tones I swear to God”_ resigned sigh.

Maybe it comes with the name.

Probably.

Who is he kidding. This is Tony’s life. Of course it comes with the name.

“Yes, well, try to be less enthusiastic, will ya.” Tony mutters under his nose, stepping closer, maybe too close, stands in the vee of Barnes’ legs and without hesitation he reaches out. He curls his hand over the curve of his shoulder, spreads the oily substance over the raised bumps and lines.

The smell of _menthe_ hits his nose, as he keeps his eyes on the expanse of discolored flesh and the stark black of the vibranium. A sound starts up suddenly in his throat, one that vibrates of sympathy and pain; one he bites down with desperation, because this feels too familiar in a completely unfamiliar way.

The feel of heated skin, of each raise and dip, a perverse memento of someone taking liberties with one’s body no one should ever take. He can taste the blood and dust in his mouth, he feels the water in his collapsed lungs as he smooths his whole palm over the curve of metal and skin. He hears the screams, feel them rip his own throat apart as hands bury themselves in his chest.

But he takes a deep breath, because this isn’t about him.

Barnes is watching him, but he seems relaxed, his eyes storm-grey and curious. They’re comfortably aligned, with Barnes’ knees brushing against the outer side of Tony’s thighs and it should feel too much, too intimate for the likes of them. It’s not.  Strangely, it’s not strange at all. It seems natural, easy. He sways the tiniest bit closer, drawn in to all that warm skin and into the little corner of the universe they’re in.

In a fit of insanity, one he’ll blame on the lack of sleep later on, Tony presses his fingers in – just so – near where the metal fuses into muscle and skin, and Barnes’ eyes flutter closed.

“Hurts?” He whisper-asks, gentles his touch further and holds his breath. When Barnes’ shakes his head, Tony brings his other hand forth.

The ointment makes it too easy, to press and kneed, to use his thumbs and heels of hands. Barnes somehow slumps in on himself, breath heavy and long and Tony probably could’ve lived without knowing how it feels to have the Winter Soldier melt under his palms.

It’s a heady feeling.

“It stopped hurting a long time ago.” Barnes murmurs in the same barely there voice, head tilting more to the side as if giving permission and room for Tony to continue. “Jus’ feelin’ it’s there. Constantly. Like …” he rolls his shoulder slightly, presses up into Tony’s touch. “I mean, you don’t think about your arms or legs, right, but this…”

“You’re always aware it’s there.” He runs his thumbs over the line where the metal begins. He licks his lips, swallows around a suddenly dry throat. “Sensitive. I know.”

Barnes looks up, with those damned eyes of his, holds Tony’s gaze for an eternity of heartbeats before he lowers it to where his skin burns hot underneath his tattered tank top. Tony’s breath catches and his fingers slip somewhat spectacularly, because the next time he blinks, they’re on both of Barnes’ shoulders, skin and metal underneath his palms.

“Hey, Stark?”

“Yeah?” His fingers clench, unwilling to let go before Tony composes himself. He can do good. He can be a proper adult, a teammate, can act like a fully-fledged and well functional human being. He should get his hands off Barnes, who is again looking up at him and is probably going to ask him to step away, because Tony can be too much too soon and he is all up in Barnes’ personal bubble to the point where he can feel the heat rising from his skin.

“I wanna see.” Barnes continues in a voice that reminds Tony of sand over velvet, smooth and rough in the same time and it takes him a minute to gather his wits.

“What, is this some weird _you show me yours, I show you mine_ thing?” Tony breaths out. He aims for a joke and fails, thumbs gliding up his neck to rest right beneath Barnes’ jaw. He runs one along the curve of the bone, follows the movement with his eyes.

He wants to say fuck it all, wants to take fistfulls of what’s right underneath his hands, but it’s Barnes and all of the previous reasons still stand, and Tony… oh wow, truth is, Tony’s selfish, he _wants._

He wants those bright eyes, wants the click of panels and the hum of gears in his ear, wants the scars inside and out under his hands and lips.

“It’s more of some weird you and me thing.” Barnes says, hands grasping at Tony’s hips as he rests his head against his stomach. His hold is a brand, delicious and hot and Tony’s certain Barnes can hear the way his heart’s trying to beat out of his chest, pressed as close as his is. His breath is warm even through the threadbare top, when he speaks.  “Fuck it if I really know anything, Stark, but I know one thing. We come and go, one step forward and then hold each other at arm’s length. ”

Tony’s lungs constrict painfully as he curls himself over, fingers clutching at Barnes’ hair now. He wants, so bad and he thinks he’s reading all of this right, that Barnes wants as well, but for all his genius, Tony’s been more wrong about relationships than anything else.

Barnes’ fingers brush underneath the fabric, right above the waistline of his jeans and the shudder he feels could belong to any of them.

“Aren’t your arms tired, darlin’? Ain’t you tired of the way we’re keepin’ us apart?” Barnes whispers and Tony moves, slips closer even if it should be impossible and tilts Barnes’ head up. Those pretty eyes of his are wild, an upcoming storm to take them both. “I wanna see you.”

Tony’s not the only one terrified anymore, but he’s not alone either.

“Something’s up with your eyesight then. Can’t be more up and personal.” Tony laughs quietly, the sound warm and happy between them as he takes a leap of faith, straddles Barnes’ legs. He bumps their noses together, “I’m right here, Bronco.”

He takes the way Barnes’ slides his hands underneath his shirt - curls them around his ribs - as an invitation and permission both, leans in to capture Barnes’ lips in a kiss. It’s been a while, for them both, and while Barnes has been brave with his admission, the kiss itself is soft, gentle, almost shy in its nature. It’s a smooth glide, a rasp of stubble and the feel of a harsh breath over his cheek.

Fingers dig into the dips between his ribs, large enough that Barnes’ thumbs brush along the lower lines of his own scars. He fully expects himself to tense up, jerk away – because no one touched _all of that mess_ , from Afghanistan, the surgery, the shield – but he doesn’t. The feel of warm hands over the ugliest parts of him only makes Tony press forward, press harder, scrape his teeth over a full lower lip.

And with a barely there sigh, Barnes’ opens up beautifully beneath him.

“I’m right here.” Tony whispers and Barnes licks the words away away as soon as they roll off his tongue, hums as if they had a taste.

His hands move further up, the shirt bunching up against his forearms; palms spread wide over the mangled skin over Tony’s chest and heart.

Barnes looks at him, from up so close that the world consists of his eyes only and that’s more than fine.

“So am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> and again, much much love to the beautiful [ rinnwrites ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinnwrites/pseuds/rinnwrites) for beta-ing !!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> first one to spot my fix-it of my most hated CACW line gets an extra hug! 


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